


Voice in my Head

by whispersofdelirium



Category: Captain America, MCU, Marvel
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofdelirium/pseuds/whispersofdelirium
Summary: The Winter Soldier has disconnected from Hydra.Instead of killing his target he saved him. There's no going back, only forward.That includes memories of the man before the weapon resurfacing and him realizing he's not the only voice in his head anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an amazing piece of fanart drawn by Bourbonss on Tumblr. Definitely follow them. Their art is amazing!
> 
> http://bourbonss.tumblr.com/post/143846181751/i-like-thinking-that-little-stevie-is-the-voice
> 
> Also cross posted on my fanfiction Tumblr blog which is here: http://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com
> 
> My personal Tumblr is: http://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com
> 
> I reblog things from social justice posts to fandom posts. Follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention

The Winter Soldier had been in the same location for thirty-seven days. It had been too long but there was something about this place that sparked a memory, one that barely stood taller than 5’5 with a fierce look in his eyes. The Soldier sat on the bare mattress in the bedroom. Before he was a memory, he was almost fully sure it was a memory. Before him sat a beat up blonde, scrawny and small but there was strength in the set of his shoulders that should have looked alien on the tiny frame. When he looked up the Soldier could see a split lip and a black eye starting to form. Blood was smeared on his top teeth as if someone had punched him in the mouth a few good times.

“Come on, Buck. Don’t give me that look. I had to.” The Soldier looked him over as the words hit him. The boy’s voice was accented and he knew if he just heard it again then he could place it. It was so familiar but the Soldier blinked and the boy was gone. He was left alone once more in this broken down room, in a broken down apartment.

With a barely there sigh the Soldier rose to his feet. He still had a target to track down. The man on the bridge. The one who looked as if he knew the Soldier but the Soldier didn’t know him. Except he knew that was a lie. The Soldier growled as he placed a hand against his brow. His head was completely scrambled. All he wanted was answers. It had been ten weeks since he had dragged that man, his mission, from the river. Had taken five weeks of mindless running before realizing he needed to come back to Brooklyn. Wasn’t sure how he knew that just that he did. Answers were hidden in this borough. He just had to look hard enough. 

“Coney Island again? You dragged me there last week.” That voice again. Bucky spun around searching all over. He was alone. He needed to get out and find his original target. The mission had changed, turned into a mission of recon. Who was the man on the bridge?

A week passed and the blonde showed up again and again. Each time he was in a different location in the apartment talking to a man that wasn’t there. A man named Bucky. Two days after it started the smaller man sat on the window sill with one leg out as if the window wasn’t closed but when the Soldier blinked again the window was wide open. The boy, because he was young possibly late teens, very early twenties at best, was just staring out at the street.

“Bucks, can I ask you something?” The Soldier waited a moment before answering as if he was the man the smaller one keeps talking to but the blonde doesn’t answer. He called again, “Bucks?” Another pause. “I said can I ask you something?” Another pause before the smaller man leaned back against the wall as the Soldier sat down and watched. “Maybe with the weather being better now I should-“ he cut off or was cut off. The hopeful look on his face died as he slouched and crossed his arms. “But me going to school ain’t helping us none.” The Soldier blinked and the boy was gone. The boy appearing happened a total of thirteen times. Each time the Soldier gathered more information and it caused more questions to stir.   
  
Forty-three days in Brooklyn was his breaking point and the Soldier decided to move on. He left the keys to the apartment outside the landlord's door and vanished in the middle of the night. A quick trip to a seemingly abandoned house in Queens got him some cash and a few extra weapons. Enough to get away from here. Captain America, as the museum in Washington DC called his target, hops from place to place. So the Soldier realized it was useless at this moment to wait until his mission stayed in New York long enough to be tailed. 

  
A few memories had resurfaced for the Soldier in that tiny apartment, memories of his time with Hydra. These new memories had opened up more questions. The current mission had to be put on hold. A new directive had presented itself. He needed answers that only Hydra had before he could continue. His first stop was to the south of Italy.

By sunrise the next day he was situated in the luggage compartment of a small passenger plane. His only light was that of the red emergency sign towards the front. Some tension left his shoulders as he was finally able to breathe deeply. The flight was eight hours long and at that time there was no chance of being stumbled on. The luggage compartment was only accessible from the bottom. He had almost eight solid hours to rest and conserve his energy.  
“You just going to sit there like a statue for the next eight hours?” The Soldier’s eyes flew open and before him was that mouthy blonde this time minus the facial injuries that usually adorned his face. This time he was looking right at the Soldier. The boy gave him a look, with both brows raised, before leaning back against the wall of the cabin. 

“Going to Italy, huh?” Silence. “Our old stomping ground, huh Buck?” More silence. “There was a time I couldn’t shut you up. Strange, buddy, real strange.”  

“Who are you?”

“Buck… Really?” The Soldier just stared at the boy as his features fell in sadness. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Your head got messed with pretty bad.” The cabin shook as the Soldier’s legs shot out, his arms gripped the wall as he stabilized himself just as the plane leveled out. Just turbulence, nothing more but still ice entered his veins. It was less than a moment later that the Soldier looked back up and the boy was gone. More questions. Always more questions.

Three days in Italy and the Soldier had found the Hydra base. It was minimally staffed. Captain America and his team had found a Hydra base only three hours north of here a few days before. Those left at this base were starting to pack up. It was time for them to move. Except if they moved whatever answers lay within would be lost to the Soldier. He couldn’t let them leave with those answers.

“Keep casualties to a minimum.” A Brooklyn-accented voice broke the silence, sounding as if the speaker had whispered it directly into his ear. The Soldier sent him a look before turning back to watch the scientists and military personnel scurry around. The memory had been leaning against the wall behind him with his hands in the pockets of pants that were a size or two too big. For a moment he could have sworn the boy had been right behind him a moment ago. 

   
He was currently crouched just outside the main room in a dead end hall, a supply closet sat at the end. “Buck, don’t ignore me.” The Soldier looked to the boy and realized he was now crouching next to him. He realized this was the closest they had ever been. Bright blue eyes watched him. They were so clear as they watched him but for a moment the Soldier could have sworn they were clouded over as if with fever. He blinked and it was gone. The boy was no longer watching him but the goings on out in the main room, shifting just slightly to see around the corner. His oversized shirt shifted revealing prominent collarbones. The Soldier’s brow furrowed, this boy was barely more than a skeleton.

“Go away,” the Soldier whispered, barely moving his lips as he turned back to the front. Two scientists were carrying out boxes into the main room, setting them down in the middle. They had been doing this for the last forty-five minutes. If he had to guess what they were planning then they would probably torch the hard copies once they were all gathered. A few soldier looking personnel were carrying outdated computers, carrying them up a far stairwell and out of sight. Old computers were impossible to hack nowadays. The Soldier sat there and debated which was best to go for, the paper copies or the computer.

“Buck, minimum casualties.” The Soldier spared him a glare before silently shifting his feet, preparing to move when the moment arises. “You know most of the scientists are usually here against their will. Families captured or conditioned with fear. Just… Just keep that in mind.” The Soldier nodded before realized what he was doing. There wasn’t time to dwell. All four of the soldiers he had seen throughout the day were now all in the room at the same time.

Another shift of his back foot before he pushed off, knife in hand already in position to attack the closest soldier. Minimum casualties. Confirmed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cross Post on my FF writing Tumblr. Follow for any first look at fics](http://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Personal blog follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention](http://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com)

The Soldier was back in Washington DC, back at the museum. The first time he had come here it was because of a giant banner out front with his target’s face on it. The fight over the river had happened only a week before. Most of his injuries had healed but the Soldier had been hiding in alleys lost and confused. Waiting for orders to come but no one contacted or came to collect him. After five days he finally ventured out to figure things out for himself. At first, he was set on finding the newest Hydra house and demanding his next orders or his next punishment but then he saw that giant banner.

It wasn’t hard to sneak in. He lifted a pass from an overwhelmed father with four children under twelve in his charge. The Soldier made it as far as the first installation. Soft blue eyes peered down at him from a larger than life poster of his target. Captain America. A man called Steve Rogers. The name lodged in his head but he couldn’t place why. His chest seized as his breathing quickened. His own blue eyes locked with the posters and for some reason seeing this man again, even in poster form, was sending his body into overdrive. This had never happened before. The Soldier stepped forward on unsteady feet and was able to read the first two lines of the installment.

Name, rank and date or birth. A kid from Brooklyn. Then it became too much and the Soldier had to withdraw.

Just two months after he started to see him, the Soldier was finally able to return to the museum. This time he paid for his ticket with money he stole from a Hydra base in Ohio that Captain America had blown through only two days before. The Captain and his group hadn’t discovered the fake wall. There’s always a fake wall. The Soldier shouldered his way into the exhibit as he put thoughts of Hydra bases aside. His shoulders tensed as he placed his balled up fists in his jacket pocket. It was a middle of a weekday and he hadn’t expected it to this packed. Children ran around, gawking at pictures and pointing at anything and everything.

“I think this might be the nicest place you’ve taken me, Buck.” The Soldier could see him out of the corner of his eye. He came up to his shoulder at best. Nothing but skin and bones with a mop of messy blond hair. A quick glance around told him the same thing it always did, no one else saw the man. But there he was just standing in the middle of the room rocking on his heels, hands in the pockets of his oversized trousers. They were held up with dark brown suspenders which caused his otherwise nice off white button up to wrinkle. Or maybe it was because the shirt was too big for his small frame. The clothes were outdated as the Soldier slowly came to realize.

The Soldier cast a glance to the man before pointedly walking on. He had a mission ahead of him. Distractions were not welcomed. In the last three or so months, he had gained very little information about his target by merely watching from afar. Hacking into what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. was a waste of time. They were rebuilding from the ground up, having lost almost all of their intel and it seemed that the Captain wasn’t actually on S.H.I.E.L.D. payroll anymore. This exhibit was a logical first step.

“Logic got nothing to do with this.” The blond had returned to his side and was looking at him questioningly. “Howling Commandos. That sounds familiar, doesn’t it Buck?” That name. It’s what the Captain called him. Why? All these questions and no answers. The Soldiers eyes wandered throughout the exhibit, quickly reading all the signs but not really pay much attention to the photos. Most in this area were of the Captain with a small squadron of men, usually posing for the camera or relaxing between battles. They held no useful information nor did these signs call any of the men by name. They were just one solid unit. The Howling Commandos.

The Soldier started to make his way to the back of the exhibit, eyes quickly roaming for any new information. That is until he came across the memorial installation. It was the only one. His eyes widened as they landed on the larger than life poster of the one Commando that fell in action. James ‘Bucky’ Buchanan Barnes.

Every muscle in his body tensed as if the blood in his veins froze solid. The face staring down at him, in black and white, was his own. It couldn’t be. He was and is a no one. The Hydra ghost and nothing more but the face looking down at him was unmistakable. His eyes quickly darted across the walls on either side. There were more than a dozen photos of James Barnes. Some before the war but most during. Even more were with the Captain himself. It was then that he noticed under that larger than life face was a tilted video screen. It was playing the same two or three-minute segment over and over again. The Soldier was aware of this since he must have stood there frozen for almost twenty minutes, memorizing the two men in the video before he was finally able to move his feet. They dragged him closer to the video. Shaking hands reached out and gripped the edge. The voice over coming through the speakers in the corners of the room caught his attention.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

A train. Metal screaming, wind rushing. There was a train. Pain suddenly radiated across his back, disappearing just as fast as it came. It spiked in his metal arm, phantom pain but for a moment it felt like- Ice slashing through the air, cutting his face. Gripping metal. Hold on. Just hold on. Can’t.

“Bucky,” his ghost asked, stepping up to his side. “We need to leave. You need to leave. Please.”

“What…” the Soldier whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the third one now. Should be up in the next week or two. There will definitely be more interactions between little Stevie and Bucky in the next chapter. Also Civil War didn't happen and won't happen
> 
>  
> 
> [Cross Post on my FF writing Tumblr. Follow for any first look at fics](http://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Personal blog follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention](http://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Amazing fanart that Inspired this story!](http://bourbonss.tumblr.com/post/143846181751/i-like-thinking-that-little-stevie-is-the-voice)
> 
> [If you are on tumblr and want to follow my fanfic specific blog click here. Follow for headcanons, fanart I love, and random fandom hell](https://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [I reblog things from social justice posts to fandom posts. Follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention](https://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com/)

It had been two weeks since the Soldier had finished his recon at the Smithsonian. It had taken two weeks to make his way out of the country once more and across the Atlantic to Europe. Two weeks of ignoring the memory always lingering at the corner of his vision, trying in vain to get him to engage.

Instead, he traveled by foot and slept during the day. Hidden away in places no one would ever look. Now, exactly two weeks later the Soldier had taken out another Hydra base. Just one day ago but there were complications. There were more military personal than the Soldier first thought. He had killed mostly but a few had tailed followed his escape. It took him most of the day to shake them off his trail before he picked a half-abandoned mental hospital to hide out in. It didn’t matter he had acquired what he was after on his mission, some more funds, and weapons. As well as an update on Captain America. The man was currently off the grid on a mission. Not even Hydra knew where but it was almost certain that he would resurface soon.

His progression was halted by a sudden snow storm. It was bad enough that the only cars on the roads were emergency vehicles and even then they were scarce. He had ventured out before it got too bad for basic supplies but that was all. His end of the grounds was completely bare. The closest building still being used was just about a hundred yards away so a small fire should be safe. The Soldier had gathered word, purposefully not looking at the blonde who had stopped speaking three days ago but still haunted his every step. He stole rations and a few blankets from the hospital’s main building while the blond drifted around, looking. Like he was actually taking in details, amazing but this new place.

Back in his spot, the Soldier pulled everything into the largest interior room. No windows and unfortunately no good way to vent the smoke. He would have to bare it to keep warm. After the wood was piled into a metal bin he looked up and noticed the ceiling tiles were eroding giving him an idea. He pushed a desk in from a connecting office before getting up on top with a broken coat rack. It took almost an hour but he had broken through the ceiling and the floor above. It wasn’t perfect but it was something. After it only took a few minutes to get the fire going and soon, with the doors all closed tightly the room wasn’t so icy. The Soldier finally relaxed ever so slightly as he pushed the broken down furniture against the two entrances. If need be the whole in the ceiling could be his escape. He left himself one of the small couch that tilted downward at one end for sleeping.

“Can’t really go about ignoring me now,” a voice came from behind him. He glanced over and the blonde just stood there with his arms crossed. The Soldier grabbed the broken coat rack and started to poke the fire, making sure it didn’t smother itself. The blond came around and sat down right next to the bin. Flame licked out and almost touched the cowlick of blonde hair that always stood up. The Soldier had to kill the urge to reach out and smooth it down, to push him away, to do something but he had to remind himself this was a memory. A talking memory but a memory none the less. “Fine if you won’t talk then I will. You know who I am.. The museum must have loosened something in that fat head of yours.”

“It’s not fat. You’re just too small to get that,” the Soldier muttered obstinately before he realized what he was doing. His brow furrowed not knowing where that came from. The blond laugh, sharp and surprising. The Soldier’s eyes snapped to him and blinked. One moment the blonde was whole and intact. The next he was curled into himself, arms wrapped around a too thin torso as shivers wracked through his body. Bruises darkened the skin around his eyes and his hair was set, plastered to his head with sweat. Another blink and that blonde were gone. The whole and intact, healthy one was now in front of him.

“Leave me be.”

“Can’t do that Buck. Haven’t been able to do that since we were eight and-”

“You stupidly took on Bradley Armstrong.”

“He had it coming.” The Soldier had no idea who Bradley Armstrong was but he knew to his bones that whoever he was and whatever had happened he did have it coming. “Who am I, Buck?” The blonde’s sudden change in tone startled the Soldier slightly. He leaned back as his eyes grew cold, roaming over the blonde’s frame.

“You are a memory. That is all.”

“Sure, fine. I’m a memory but I’m a memory of someone important and you know it.” The Soldier sat there and said nothing. “Jerk.”

“Punk.” A small smile graces the blonde’s lips.

“If you can’t say it, then I will be Punk.”

The rest of the night they sat in silence as the firewood burned down. The Soldier fed it another two logs before laying down on the couch with the blanket over him. Tomorrow to Munich.

A week later and two Hydra hideouts later the Soldier was camped out in a small cave. He was somewhere in the backwoods of France. Another unit had been sent out to capture him. He killed each member but not before they had been able to relay his location back to their base. So he ran, he went backward. Instead of following the path he wanted to get to his destination he had to double back to France. At least it wasn’t as cold here as in Germany but he was also right back at the almost beginning of his journey.

In one of his last attacks on a Hydra base, he had found a perfect location without any other Hydra operation within 500 miles, Bucharest Romania. That was his destination. He was tired. More and more memories were surfacing but they were jumbled. None were clear, not as clear at the Blonde.

“I could go for some fruit.” Speaking of. Since the Soldier had made the mistake of responding to the memory of the boy the memory had taken it as permission to never stop making comments. Though if he was being honest fresh fruit sounded amazing right now. The memory of eating a freshly picked apple had surfaced. It had stopped him in his tracks, causing him to stumble slightly. A crab apple hit a nearby tree. He had by accidentally kicked it. “Buck?” The Soldier still refused to answer to that name but it didn’t mean the Punk didn’t stop trying. Today the boy was leaning with his back against a wall, he was younger than usual. This time the boy was literally that, just a boy. No older than thirteen, still so small for his age. The large green shirt he wore hung off one shoulder and when he kept tugging it back the Soldier caught a glimpse of a name in the collar. Not the one he thought he would see, but that one of the fallen soldier. The one that fell from the train.

“Stop looking at me like that. Your ma said I could keep it.” The Punk wrapped his arms around his tiny little torso, hugging the shirt to himself as if the Soldier would try to rip it off at any moment. “Not like you can fit into it anymore.” The Punk’s voice wasn’t right. His usual attitude was there but a touch of sadness colored each word. It was then the Soldier realized the memory wasn’t really looking at him. The Punk’s gaze was slightly left of his shoulder. This wasn’t his Punk. Not the one that talked about to him and challenged him on everything. This one was a basic memory, nothing more than film running through a projector. These happened every now and then. Memories playing out before his eyes. The better ones when he was awake, the worse ones while he slept.

The projection in front of him ran its course. Teasing insults were thrown back and forth, or at least he guessed it was back and forth. Whoever the Punk was talking to had to be good enough to keep up with that sharp tongue and quick wit. Words bubbled on his tongue, comebacks that wanted to be said but every time he killed them with his clenched jaw. Shredded them with his teeth.

Another few days and another cave. This one in northern Italy at the base of the Alps. He hadn’t needed to hide this time. He was stocked on food and water. There was even a river ten miles back which was mostly secluded that the Soldier felt safe enough to wash up his body and his clothes. There was no reason to stop beside a headache pounding in his skull. His left eye would not open. Something was wrong. Had he been out of the ice too long? Did Hydra put in a fail safe? After all, this running around for answers was he to die in the woods in Italy because there was something in his head that would kill him right now? Kill him for not staying a mere weapon? He gritted his teeth and pressed the cold steel of his left hand to his forward. It helped a bit, allowing him to fall asleep.

It was less like falling asleep and more like blacking out. One minute the Soldier was aware of the dirt floor beneath him as he curled up tight in the back of the cave. Next moment there was nothing.nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I never posted this on AO3 so.... now that's fixed! The final chapter is already half way written so hopefully that'll be up soon


	4. Chapter 4

He lost time laying on the floor of the cave. His head pounded with his sped up heartbeat, preventing him from sleeping. Three days passed, Bucky guessed from the few times he was able to open his eyes and glimpse the light from outside the cave. It could have been longer, much longer but he knew he witnessed three sunsets. A single memory bled through the pain, ramming to the forefront of his mind. He remembers the feeling of being bound to a hard table. His whole body was sore and a small trickle of blood was running down one of his arms.

Good progress, a voice kept echoing in his head. It's taking effect nicely. Laughter, ringing laughter. Nothing but a soldier. You'll be nothing-

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038," the Soldier gasped out.

Nothing but a soldier. He turned over, pressing his forehead into the ground and practically growled out between clenched teeth. He remembered that voice. It had been a long, long time since he heard it last but he remembered it.

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038," he repeated over and over again. First quietly, a whisper but soon he was shouting, screaming the words over and over and over again until his throat was raw. Until his voice gave out but still he mouthed it. Someone was supposed to stop this before that. Someone was supposed to- Steve. Steve wasn't here this time. He wasn't here to take him away from the pain in his head. Flashes of memory sparked across his closed eyes, faster this time as he kept repeating those few words.

 

It felt like something in his mind had broken, like a gate that once kept all this at bay. He remembered Bucky, remembered being Bucky but the bright memories of them all were of Steve, of the Punk. He remembered him before the serum and after. No matter what size he was he was the brightest star. Buck had been drawn to him when they were kids and the Soldier- Bucky still felt it now but he knew Steve was in the wind for the time being. The pull to follow him felt tangled and wound tight around his chest.

"Are you even ready to follow him?" a sad voice asked. Buck slowly opened his eyes. Kneeling before him was Steve, small and deathly thin as he was before the serum.

"Steve..."

"No. I'm Punk. Steve's out there somewhere." He paused and leaned back with a sad expression marring his handsome features. "Buck... How-" He stopped and looked away before continuing. "The control in your head is broken." Every muscle in the memories body tensed ever so slightly. He went from completely relaxed, dejected even to this. Ready to move out at a moments notice.

"Control?" Buck asked softly as he pulled himself up from the ground, leaning his back against the rough stone of the cave wall and almost mirroring the Punk's position across the way.

"Hydra put something in your head. To much time out of cryo or away from your handlers, it'd go off. Suppose to cause immense pain that would force you to come back." The Punk paused and turned his gaze towards the opening of the cave, covered with a fallen branch but still watery sunlight showed through. "It was supposed to trigger weeks ago."

"How do you know this?" Bucky's voice was barely a whisper. His brilliant blue eyes snapped back to Buck. They were strange this time. Not as warm as before and how he spoke was different. It was strange.

"You were aware when they discussed it, two scientists. Both were half height but one was completely bald and very thin, almost sickly and he had a bad cough that never went away. They talked about the world series after and who would win." Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched his memory, his only company for months, change ever so slightly. The mannerisms were different, they weren't Steve's anymore. They were his. Not the Bucky from 1944 but him now. The fusion of weapon and soldier.

"I was strapped to the chair. They stood directly in front of me discussing it as if I wasn't there. I remember thinking nothing. Just nothing."

"You were. Do we question why it took so long? Or didn't work exactly as planned?"

"No, we keep moving." The Punk nodded at him, posture relaxing again, almost back to how it was. He was acting like Steve again. 

He gathered his supplies, pushed back the tree and left. The Soldier, on the other hand, was still the Soldier now, even if he did have a name after all. He was Bucky and god damn, he wanted a fucking cigarette. 

 

A week and a half later Bucky arrived at Bucharest making very good time. He had been able to quicken the pace once he had stolen a motorcycle right after entering Austria. Anytime he stopped in a town with any sort of connection to the outside world he paused only long enough to gather any new information on Captain America, on his Stevie. More and more memories were coming back but he held them off until he was able to settle in Bucharest. He had needed all his wits about him while traveling. Hydra was still looking for him after all. It probably hadn't helped to hit another Hydra base right inside the border of Romania but he needed the local currency. Fortunately, he had come in at night and taken out all operatives before they had sent a signal out.

Once he got to Bucharest it had been surprisingly easy to find a place to live. The city had been built up recently, very few run down and abandoned buildings marred the city. A random citizen coming and going from a small apartment would attract less notice than a homeless man in a city like this. That was his reasoning and to be perfectly honest, a nice warm shower was needed. His metal arm was getting stiff after so long out of the ice. He needed a safe place to repair it best he could. 

So he took the first apartment he found with good water pressure. It wasn't anything special. One large room, kitchen divided from the bedroom/living room area and a simple bathroom off to the side. The landlord was just starting to renovate when Buck said he'd take it as is. That alone had the landlord happy to not ask any questions for the time being. It had a few too many windows and doors for his liking but other than that it was perfect for his needs. The first thing he did was nail the larger than necessary front door closed.

Day one consisted of acquiring a bed and simple kitchen supplies. The bed wasn't anything more than a mattress raised on a simple frame but he shoved a gym bag he had lifted off of a businessman earlier in the day underneath. It had all his weapons and a few rolls of cash from various bordering countries. It also had a file he had taken from one of the last Hydra bases, a file on him. Or more on about the Winter Soldier. There was no mention of Bucky Barnes anywhere in the file. At that point, he was nothing more than the Asset. He remembered who this body and soul belonged to before it belonged to them. Mostly remembered, at least.

 

"Buck you need to eat." There he went again. It was only eight in the morning and already Punk was getting on his ass. He looked up at the man before him. Punk was leaning against the kitchen sink with his arms crossed over his rail thin torso, basically glaring him down.

"I'm fine," Buck grumbled as he turned his attention back to the notebook in front of him, flipping a page. They had been in Bucharest for a little over two months. Well, he had. It was hard at times remembering Punk wasn't Steve and Steve wasn't here with him.

"It's been two days." Buck just shrugged as he flipped another page. This was the third notebook he had filled up since he started writing everything down last month. Today he couldn't remember anything new, nothing was cloudy. His mind was just kind of blank, empty like a void. When that happened he just flipped through what he had already recorded. Making sure he wasn't losing memories when he wasn't gaining them. 

"Holy Cross Cemetery, May 1937," Buck mumbled as he read. On the page in front of him was a few short words and a crude drawing of flowers in front of a grave. Steve's mom had passed the month before. Bucky's eyes shut tight as he tried his hardest to remember her name or even what she looked like. A part of him hated himself for forgetting her. A woman who was kind, smart, and fiercely loving. She helped raised him and his sister just as much as his mom helped raise Steve. If he could remember her maybe he could remember his own family. All he had was a count, mother, father, sister, brother but maybe that was wrong. Did he only have the one sibling?

"She's buried in the far back right next to Da." Bucky's eyes snapped up as he looked at the Punk who still stood with his back to the sink and arms crossed. It was then that he realized the world wasn't so colorless anymore. It was always so dulled when he had a void day. A small smile graced his lips as he realized it was over.

"There's a massive tree one or two rows down."

"Two down. Right next to old Mrs. McMahon's husbands grave."

"She would always ask us to leave flowers for him as well since she was getting too old to visit when her kids didn't take her." The Punk smiled softly before nodding. Buck quickly grabbed the pen that had rolled off the table and onto the floor two days ago. He quickly scribbled these new memories down under the others. Frustration still burned deep inside of him. He remembered Mrs. McMahon clearly but why couldn't he remember his family or Steve's mom?

"Because they matter more," Punk said softly before coming around and looking down at the notebook. "You remembered something. Now go get something to eat. Lord knows you ain't got anything in this place." Bucky just rolled his eyes before he rolled his shoulders. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting, staring at half remembered memories but he was stiff now as he moved.

"After I shower."

 

He wasn't sure what day it was but he knew damn well it wasn't Sunday. He was extremely thankful for that fact. On Sundays the market near his small apartment was crowded, overly crowded. The mess of people spilling in and out of stalls, talking all at once, made him extremely uneasy. If he was being good, if he was functioning properly and kept track of the days of the week he made sure never to go outside on Sundays. Whatever day it was, he knew it wasn't Sundays.

He stopped at a few stands, one for fresh bread, another for fresh fruit, before making his way towards the closest corner store. The market stands were great for fresh food but the dairy vendor was only there a few days a week but this didn't seem to be one of them. So it wasn't a Sunday or a Monday or a Wednesday. Bucky kept rolling this over, distracting himself from the people calmly going about their days around him. It wasn't a busy day on his street but his eyes still tracked rooftops, memorized anyone who came near him and checked corners for assaults. His back was straight, hard and unyielding. People weren't tripping over their own feet to break from his path so he was getting better.

He knew he stuck out oddly from the crowd, too guarded and too tense, but he wasn't ever programmed to blend in. Programmed to move with the shadows, to be silent as death itself, but you can't do that on a semi-busy street while trying to buy simple groceries. Bucky's shoulders relaxed minutely when Punk started appearing. He twisted his small body around passing strangers, looking around for something of interesting. Every now and then he threw a look Bucky's way before going back to watching the masses as they walked.

"Milk, eggs and cheese?" Punk mumbled going over their grocery list as the small corner store came into view. A few men were talking to the side of the front door but none even looked at him as he pulled his cap low and walked past them. The cool dry air hit him the moment he stepped in. It was refreshing. His apartment had only a half broken fan that made a clunk sound if he turned it on to the highest setting. It reminded him of 1940 and that tiny little apartment in Brooklyn. All he needed were lights that flickered every time the rail cars passed and an icebox that was being propped up with a milk crate. At least he thought it was a milk crate. The details were blurry on this. It could have been a few broken bricks. Actually, that sounded more right. The milk crate was propping something else up.

It only took a few minutes for Bucky to gather everything he needed. He even picked up a few packets of turkey bacon because one of the first memories that came back was his faith and the traditions that he was raised to respect. He'd trade the memory of traditions if he could only remember his mother's face. He forced himself to focus on the here and now, the turkey bacon chilling his flesh hand, even through the glove, the weight of the milk, trying to be extra careful with the eggs. He should have grabbed one of those tiny baskets, even if the sensory focus was a great distraction.

The cashier greeted him cheerfully as he gently put down his half dozen items before gesturing up for two packs of cigarettes. He could hear Punk grumble off to the side like he always did when Buck got another pack. Buck ignored him as he subtly looked over his shoulder and around the store. Old habit but he still memorized all that he could including faces of the three people milling about. The cigarettes were also an old habit, but not from his time as the Winter Soldier. No, this was from Italy, the first time.

Once the memories of Bucky before the fall, before the Soldier returned his need for a god damned cigarette returned as well. Dum Dum Dugan was the jerk that had started it all. There was a period of two weeks where they were stuck in a small town in southern Italy and he ran out of cigars. The locals smoked this spicy cigarette that Dugan miserably had to switch to until his brother sent him another 'care package.' Buck couldn't remember who Dugan's brother was but he thinks the guy was someone important.

Dugan and Bucky had most night watches together, back when they were just part of the 107th. Buck had always been able to live well off very little sleep. A skill trained growing up with Steve, worrying nights away. Watching for his chest to still, for the ragged painful breaths to stop. He was fine with little sleep. Dugan seemed to be the same way or mostly he just thrived on any situation he could complain about. Either way watching Dugan chain smoke on those nights, after a while, the habit rubbed off on him.

Steve wasn't too happy when he found out but hey, at least Buck wasn't the one that let a German scientist experiment on him. Willingly. 

Buck smiled softly, remembering his old Howlies as he paid for his purchases and left. As he walked back to the apartment he lit a cigarette, breathed it in and secretly yet happily listened to the Punk grumble the whole way back, just like Steve used to do. It was times like this that made it hard to differentiate the two but he always actively tried. The real Steve Rogers was out there, motivating him to get better. Remember more. Become the man he once was, little by little. At times he wished he had someone to help him through, especially when things got bad and the nightmares felt too real but he was still dangerous. Hydra was still after him. There was no way he could bring that to Steve's door.

He finished his cigarette just as he got to his building. His eyes tracked the street and surrounding buildings as he snuffed out the butt before going inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Amazing fanart that Inspired this story!](http://bourbonss.tumblr.com/post/143846181751/i-like-thinking-that-little-stevie-is-the-voice)
> 
> [If you are on tumblr and want to follow my fanfic specific blog click here. Follow for headcanons, fanart I love, and random fandom hell](https://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [I reblog things from social justice posts to fandom posts. Follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention](https://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

It had been almost a year since Bucky had arrived in Bucharest. Same thing almost every day; eat, sleep, remember. Every now and then he'd pick up an odd job here or there to replenish his funds but truth be told. He didn't really need it. It just felt good to work with his hands again. He remembered his time down at the docks, working his days away to put Steve through art school. He remembers his parents helping with what they could. The depression had taken it's time to hit them but it still hit them. The memories from his time helping those in Hoovervilles had resurfaced. How they paid with small loaves of bread or a mostly intact shirt. It never paid a real cent but the work felt right and no matter how poor him and Stevie had been they still had a real roof over their head. Those people didn't. Why their old Landlady had been so soft with them, Buck will never know but that softness had probably saved Steve's life. If they had been kicked to the street what with all Steve's illnesses he'd have probably passed not long after.

All these returned memories Buck kept in notebooks and journals. He had amassed so many at this point that they filled up a large hiking backpack which he kept under his bed next to his duffel bag of weapons and cash. One was to keep him alive, the other sane. Punk was still around as well and Buck wasn't sure what that said about his mental health but it was a company at least. Someone to talk too. Even if it wasn't too real.

"Punk," Bucky whispered as he sat on his bed, sheets pooled around his waist with him only in a pair of boxers because of the incoming heat of summer. He waited a moment as Punk sat on the end of the bed and just watched him. For the last few hours, Buck had tried to sleep but something was twisting up his insides. Had been for weeks. Foreign thoughts and feelings that felt not so foreign kept him up. His mind was trying to remind him but he still wasn't able to understand. They were all tangled together too tightly for Bucky to figure them out. "I don't understand."

"Just wait it out. It'll become clear," Punk whispered. Buck glanced up. "You remember all those dates you made me double up with you? Always had to find a girl for Stevie."

"I remember some. Definitely, remember the last one. You skipped out and got yourself enlisted." Buck sent a none heated glare towards Punk who just shrugged. They lapsed into silence with Buck watching Punk and Punk pointedly looking away. The small light from outside fell awkwardly across Punk's face and chest. They didn't line up right but Buck knew it was just his brain trying to fit the kid into reality. It was another trick Bucky taught himself to see. Keep the memory separate from the real thing. 

God, he missed Stevie.

"Which one?" Punk asked breaking the silence. Buck looked up at him realizing his gaze had wandered to his mix-matched hands in his lap. "Which one? The small one or the large one?"

"Same Stevie. Don't matter what he looks like." Finally, Punk turned and looked at him. Clear, bright blue eyes stared at him a moment as a small smile softened his features. He remembered them like this. He remembered when Stevie's features sharpened and got more defined. He was beautiful in both forms.

A soft sigh of understanding fell from Bucky's lips. Now he knew. The twisted feeling inside of him eased and he could breath easier. This whole time trying to remember who he was, who James Bucky Barnes was, was just that. He had focused so much on trying to get his memories back that he hadn't realized he was missing how he had felt back then. At least when it came to Stevie. Back when they were younger, before the fall, before the war this kind of thing was never talked about. You kept your mouth shut or there was a chance you'd be dragged into an alley. Never to walk out again. It wasn't as common in their neighborhood but it still happened. The clubs got raided and the names of those who got arrested or worse got around. It was enough to scare Buck off of them. Didn't matter anyways.

Stevie had enough woes as it was. He didn't need the burden of knowing his best friend was queer for him. 

"I'm sorry," Punk whispered as he slid closer and rested a hand on Bucky's leg. He hated that he could feel the pressure of the touch. He hated that his mind tricked him so. "I had hoped you wouldn't remember this."

"Because it hurts."

"Yeah, because it hurts."

 

They sat in silence for the remaining night time hours. Buck didn't move as he replayed so many emotions from before. The pain of realizing who he was in love with hitting him at the age of twelve, a moment after Shelly Martins gave him his first kiss. It was an okay kiss but he wished it wasn't her. Next came the shame of growing up next to Stevie, of watching him when he wasn't looking. He had felt like such a putz at the time. It got worse when they moved in together but no matter what Buck couldn't stop being in love.

Buck's old habit of sleeping very little was back with a vengeance. A month of sleepless nights was behind him since he remembered his feelings for Stevie. For the first time in a very, very, very long time Bucky felt right inside. His feelings for Stevie returning felt like the last piece of the puzzle. Some memories were still gone or blurry, probably forever to remain that way but Bucky was Buck again. Tonight Buck sat on his bed, arms around his knees as he alternated between looking at Punk and staring off. Punk wasn't doing anything exciting just sitting cross-legged on the beat up old arm chair Buck grabbed a while back.

As the sun started to lighten the sky Buck picked up the sound of his neighbor moving around before the click of a TV turning on. For who knows how long Buck sat there and listened to the news. Paid extra attention to the weather focus before a special bulletin broke in. His neighbor had started making breakfast, loudly like they did most mornings so the beginning of the news report was lost. Bucky's hearing was better than he remembered it being, before Hydra and his time with Zola so once the coffee grinder stopped running he was able to hear the news report perfectly.

"Was spotted inside Baneasa Shopping City in civilian clothes," the news reporter stated in Romanian. He half listened as he laid back in bed with his arms above his head. "Reports say he has been in Romania for the last week. No one knows if he's here on official business. With S.H.I.E.L.D. having been disbanded almost a year and a half ago officials think not." Buck lurched up as his mind went blank and he paid full attention to the news report. "For those just tuning in, Captain America himself, leader of the now disbanded Avengers stopped a large scale attack in Baneasa Shopping City just about an hour ago. Thankfully the shopping plaza was only just opening up at the time or..." Steve was here. He was only a few hours north of where Buck was currently

"Find him," Punk stated, appearing beside the bed with his hands in his pockets.

"Not yet."

"He's here, probably looking for you. Why not yet?" Punk paused before looking down and sighing. "If not now then when? You can't honestly think you're still a danger to him."

"I am."

"And when won't you be?" Buck just glanced at him before getting up, pulling on the closest pair of pants and leaning over the side of the bed. "Damn it, Buck! No!" Buck pulled out the two bags that were hidden under the bed paying him no mind. He moved quickly around the apartment, gathering up his current journals and food before packing it in the backpack with the rest. Everything could be left behind. Everything else could be abandoned. Even the guns and cash could be abandoned if need be. Not the journals. He turned around with both bags over both shoulders and was met with Punk standing in his doorway looking down right pissed.

"You are not running."

"Move."

"No. Steve- your real flesh and blood Steve- is here. He's here for you. You can't argue that."

"I'm not. That's why we're leaving."

"Like hell you are!"

"You are not real. Just a figment and proof that I'm not well enough to see him." The look Punk sent him was heartbreaking and instantly he deflated. Buck had to remind himself the man in front of him wasn't real. He could walk right through but his feet wouldn't move.

"You're arguing with yourself. That's why you haven't left yet," Punk said plainly with a hint of sadness to his tone. "Just go see him." Buck furrowed his brow and blinked. Punk was gone. He was alone.

 

Three hours later Buck found himself walking through Baneasa Shopping City with his head tilted down and not even sure what how this all happened. One moment he was dead set on leaving and the next he put his bags down and came here. It wasn't hard to find where the attack had happened. One of the shops was blown out and police tape had it sectioned off. Police officers were milling around, talking into radios, and not really paying much attention to their surroundings which were exactly how Buck was able to slip past them. He shook his head, slightly annoyed by how easy that was. Behind the tape, Buck was able to see the actual damage. The news had implied it was a lot worse than it really was. He wouldn't call it a large scale attack by any means.

His eyes tracked across the walls, marking each bullet hole and guesstimating what kind of weapon would cause it. Looked to be an NCM assault rifle. There was a small blast radius but all the debris had been cleared at this point. The low hanging ceiling had bubbled up but not completely broken. Whatever detonated had been set on the ground first. Whoever had caused this wasn't prepared or an amateur. Didn't matter, either way, to be honest.

He stuck to the back wall and kept eyes on the police that were still milling around, always keeping out of their sights as he finished up looking around. As easy as it was to sneak in, it was even easier to sneak out. Bucky kept his eyes peeled around as he took a lap around the area but Steve was nowhere to be found. He stopped outside a restaurant casually as he peered in through the big glass windows in front. A TV was faced outward with it's captions on. Since the new report first aired the media had gotten a hold of a video of the attack. It was grainy and shaky. Very possibly from some bystanders cellphone.

Buck watched the scene unfold. Hydra agents had attacked Steve. The agents were wearing civilian clothes just like Steve but they didn't fool him. Buck recognized their tactics instantly. The video hadn't shown how the attack started but he saw how it was finished, Steve pulling a fire alarm and clearing out the half open for business plaza as he backed them into a closed store front. He didn't have his shield with him but he improvised with some type of debris. The video wasn't clear enough to tell what it was.

The attack was quick and brutal but Steve managed it well. A swelling of pride for his boy lodged itself in his chest. He shouldn't be surprised really. Steve always had a good head on his shoulders and with all his training since. The news was reporting a large number of injuries but no causalities. Best case scenario. With a sigh, he realized Steve was long gone. Where? He could only guess. 

 

Just under three hours later he was back outside his apartment and he guessed right. Steve was standing inconspicuously as he ever could manage on the sidewalk in front of his building. He still stuck out like a sore thumb. Always would no matter what size he was. He stood there and watched Steve for twenty minutes as he formulated a course of action. He nodded to Punk who appeared ten minutes in before he crossed the street and headed straight for Steve. He kept his head down before bumping into him.

A quick rise of his head then he blended into the crowd, gone but he knew Steve had seen him. He knew Steve was following him. He kept his pace even, guiding Steve down the block before he sharply turned into an alley. As quick as possible he shimmied up a fire escape, leaving the ladder down as he went, reaching the roof as he heard Steve calling his name before he disappeared from sight. Punk appeared in front of him smiling and for a moment he paused, smiling back.

Buck watched Steve climb up after him from where he sat atop an air vent. His hands on his knees as he tried to relax as much as possible but his heart was racing and all he could think was just how beautiful Steve looked.

"Buck?" Steve asked hesitantly with one hand out as he slowly came closer. Buck smiled softly before blinking. Steve was still in front of him, with a mix of awe and elation written on his face, but Punk was gone.

"Hey, punk. Miss me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Amazing fanart that Inspired this story!](http://bourbonss.tumblr.com/post/143846181751/i-like-thinking-that-little-stevie-is-the-voice)
> 
> [If you are on tumblr and want to follow my fanfic specific blog click here. Follow for headcanons, fanart I love, and random fandom hell](https://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [I reblog things from social justice posts to fandom posts. Follow for the eclectic shitposts that grab my attention](https://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic blog: http://whispersofdelirium.tumblr.com  
> Personal Blog: http://deliriumsetin.tumblr.com


End file.
